19 October 2001, 4.57 am

Come Sweet Slumber Enshroud Me In Thy Purple Cloak

normally when i can't sleep, it's my own sorry fault. maybe i sat on my ass all day and didn't go to aerobics or even the CAFE. perhaps i did go to aerobics but right before bed i drank fifty-eight tiny espressos accompanied by a packet of those little coffee beans wrapped in chocolate. fine: then you can blame the victim cuz it's the victim's fault. she asked for it, hanging around all day dressed only in a paul smith t-shirt that barely covers her arse, doing nothing but writing emails and nonsense to people who won't pay her, not even if she's nice to them.

but tonight? hello? what did i fucking do, oh great god of insomnia, to deserve this? NOTHING, that's what. big fat zero! are you stepping up the punishment? why? i'm in enough shit as it is, thank you! i went to the gym in the evening! i had a relaxing bath! i watched tv like a normal person and didn't just hang on the net all night! i even, if we're getting into the morally good stuff, tidied up the bedroom and HOOVERED and MOPPED in there! so what the fuck, man?

and then to bring the voice in. what did i do to deserve the voice? i'm tryin', you know! i'm really fuckin' tryin'! i'm not just sitting around all day doing fuck all! well, ok, sometimes i am. but hell, i just swore off the net for THREE WEEKS and it wasn't a problem! i've sent off more cvs in the last month than i have in my entire life! everett true said he liked my stuff! i'm making progress! yet still i get *this* booming in my head:

You are fucking dead in this town, womane. Your career? Totally over. Yes, before it even started. Do you have any idea how lame you are? What a fucking cliche you are? Just how seriously you are about to crash and burn? You define the word preposterous, darling. You are hubris. Your greatest talent? Engendering schadenfreude in others. That's it. Better put it on your CV babe, yeah, right at the top, because it's the only thing you've shown any skill at in months.


how i hate the voice. it lives inside me like a fucking tumour, man. i want to track it down and shoot it. i want to strangle it, for using my own big words against me, for scurrying round in my brain and BITING it and SHITTING in the wounds - WHY?

what to do? wank? we all know orgasm is NUMERO UNO for sending you off to sleep. but don't you just hate those bitter tiny little orgasms you reluctantly squeeze out when you're desperate for sleep? it's like your body knows you're not doing it because you're actually horny, so to punish you it delivers only the merest spasm. it offers less relief than scratching an itch or tucking your hair behind your ear. it's a gnat's fart of an orgasm, a cat's yawn of a thrill. i'm not getting my fingertip wrinkly just for that, ya know what i'm sayin'?

it's just not going to happen for me tonight, is it?


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